CHAPTER III.
THE ORCHARD.
Next morning, when breakfast was over, Miss Wealthy made a littlespeech, giving the two girls the freedom of the place.
"You will find your own way about, my dears," she said. "I will onlygive you some general directions. The orchard is to the right, beyondthe garden. There is a pleasant seat there under one of the apple-trees,where you may like to sit. Beyond that are the woods. On the other sideof the house is the barnyard, and the road goes by to the village. Youwill find plenty of flowers all about, and I hope you will amuseyourselves."
"Oh, indeed we shall, Cousin Wealthy!" cried Hildegarde. "It is delightenough just to breathe this delicious air and look at the river."
They were sitting on the piazza, from which the lawn sloped down to agreat hedge of Norway fir, just beyond which flowed the broad bluestream of the Kennebec.
"How about the river, Cousin Wealthy?" asked Hildegarde, timidly. "Ithought I saw a boat-house through the trees. Could we go out to row?"
Miss Wealthy seemed a little flurried by the question. "My dear," shesaid, and hesitated,--"my dear, have you--do your parents allow you togo on the water? Can you swim?"
"Oh, yes," said Hildegarde, "I can swim very well, Cousin Wealthy,--atleast, Papa says I can; and I can row and paddle and sail."
"Oh, not sail!" cried Miss Wealthy, with an odd little catch in herbreath,--"not sail, my dear! I could not--I could not think of that fora moment. But there is a row-boat," she added, after a pause,--"a boatwhich Jeremiah uses. If Jeremiah thinks she is perfectly safe, you cango out, if you feel quite sure your parents would wish it."
"Oh, I am very sure," said Hildegarde; "for I asked Papa, almost thelast thing before we left. Thank you, Cousin Wealthy, so much! We willbe rather quiet this morning, for Rose does not feel very strong; butthis afternoon perhaps we will try the boat. Isn't there something I cando for you, Cousin Wealthy? Can't I help Martha? I can do all kinds ofwork,--can't I, Rose?--and I love it!"
But Martha had a young girl in the kitchen, Miss Wealthy said, whom shewas training to help her; and she herself had letters to write andaccounts to settle. So the two girls sauntered off slowly, arm in arm;Rose leaning on her friend, whose strong young frame seemed able tosupport them both.
The garden was a very pleasant place, with rhubarb and sunflowers, sweetpeas and mignonette, planted here and there among the rows ofvegetables, just as Jeremiah's fancy suggested. Miss Wealthy's ownflower-beds, trim and gay with geraniums, pansies, and heliotrope, wereunder the dining-room windows; but somehow the girls liked Jeremiah'sgarden best. Hildegarde pulled some sweet peas, and stuck the wingedblossoms in Rose's fair hair, giving a fly-away look to her smoothlocks. Then she began to sniff inquiringly. "Southernwood!" shesaid,--"I smell southernwood somewhere, Rose. Where is it?"
"Yonder," said Rose, pointing to a feathery bush not far off.
"Oh! and there is lavender too, Hilda! Do you suppose we may pick some?I do like to have a sprig of lavender in my belt."
At this moment Jeremiah appeared, wheeling a load of turf. He was "longand lank and brown as is the ribbed sea-sand," and Hildegarde mentallychristened him the Ancient Mariner on the spot; but he smiled sadly andsaid, "_Good_-mornin'," and seemed pleased when the girls praised hisgarden. "Ee-yus!" he said, with placid melancholy. "I've seen wussplaces. Minglin' the blooms with the truck and herbs was my idee, as youmay say,--'livens up one, and sobers down the other. _She_ laughs at me,but she don't keer, s'long as she has all she wants. Cut ye somemignonette? That's very favoryte with me,--very favoryte."
He cut a great bunch of mignonette; and Rose, proffering her request forlavender, received a nosegay as big as she could hold in both hands.
"The roses is just comin' on," he said. "Over behind them beans theyare. A sight o' roses there'll be in another week. Coreopsis is pooty,too; that's down the other side of the corn. Curus garding, folksthinks; but, there, it's my idee, and she don't keer."
Much amused, the girls thanked the melancholy prophet, and wandered awayinto the orchard, to find the seat that Miss Wealthy had told them of.
"Oh, what a lovely, lovely orchard!" cried Hildegarde, in delight; andindeed it was a pretty place. The apple-trees were old, and curiouslygnarled and twisted, bending this way and that, as apple-trees will. Theshort, fine grass was like emerald; there were no flowers at all, onlygreen and brown, with the sunlight flickering through the branchesoverhead. They found the seat, which was curiously wedged into thedouble trunk of the very patriarch of apple-trees.
"Do look at him!" cried Hildegarde. "He is like a giant with therheumatism. Suppose we call him Blunderbore. What does twist them so,Rose? Look! there is one with a trunk almost horizontal."
"I don't know," said Rose, slowly. "Another item for the ignorance list,Hilda. It is growing appallingly long. I really _don't_ know why theytwist so. In the forest they grow much taller than in orchards, and gostraight up. Farmer Hartley has seen one seventy feet high, he says."
"Let us call it vegetable rheumatism!" said Hildegarde. "How _is_ yourpoor back this morning, ma'am?" She addressed an ancient tree withrespectful sympathy; indeed, it did look like an aged dame bent almostdouble. "Have you ever tried Pond's Extract? I think I must really buy agallon or so for you. And as long as you must bend over, you will notmind if I take a little walk along your suffering spine, and sit on yourarm, will you?"
She walked up the tree, and seated herself on a branch which was crookedlike a friendly arm, making a very comfortable seat. "She's a dear oldlady, Rose!" she cried. "Doesn't mind a bit, but thinks it rather doesher good,--like _massage_, you know. What do you suppose her name is?"
"Dame Crump would do, wouldn't it?" replied Rose, looking critically atthe venerable dame.
"Of course! and that ferocious old person brandishing three arms overyonder must be Croquemitaine,--
"'Croquemitaine! Croquemitaine! Ne dinerai pas 'vec toi!'
I think they are rather a savage set,--don't you, Rosy?--all except mydear Dame Crump here."
"I _know_ they are," said Rose, in a low voice. "Hush! the three witchesare just behind you, Hilda. Their skinny arms are outstretched to claspyou! Fly, and save yourself from the caldron!"
"Avaunt!" cried Hilda, springing lightly from Dame Crump's shelteringarm. "Ye secret, black, and midnight hags, what is 't ye do?"
"A deed without a name!" muttered Rose, in sepulchral tones.
"I think it is, indeed!" cried Hildegarde, laughing. "Poor old goutythings! they can only claw the air, like Grandfather Smallweed, andcannot take a single step to clutch me."
"Just like me, as I was a year ago," said Rose, smiling.
"Rose! how can you?" cried Hildegarde, indignantly; "as if you had notalways been a white rosebush."
"On wheels!" said Rose. "I often think of my dear old chair, and wonderif it misses me. Hildegarde dear!"
"My lamb!" replied Hildegarde, sitting down by her friend and giving hera little hug.
"I wish you could know how wonderful it all is! I wish--no, I don't wishyou could be lame even for half an hour; but I wish you could just_dream_ that you were lame, and then wake up and find everything rightagain. Having always walked, you cannot know the wonder of it. To thinkthat I can stand up--so! and walk--so! actually one foot before theother, just like other people. Oh! and I used to wonder how they did it.I don't now understand how 'four-leggers,' as Bubble calls them, moveso many things without getting mixed up."
"Dear Rose! you are happy, aren't you?" exclaimed Hildegarde, withdelight.
"Happy!" echoed Rose, her sweet face glowing like her own name-flower."But I was always happy, you know, dear. Now it is happiness, withfairyland thrown in. I am some wonderful creature, walking throughmiracles; a kind of--Who was the fairy-knight you were telling meabout?"
"Lohengrin?" said Hildegarde. "No, you are more like Una, in the 'FaerieQueene.' In fact, I think you _are_ Una."
"And then," continued Rose, "there is anot
her thing! At least, there area thousand other things, but one that I was thinking of specially justnow, when you named the trees. That was only play to you; but, Hilda, itused to be almost quite real for me,--that sort of thing. Sitting thereas I used, day after day, year after year, mostly alone,--for motherand Bubble were always at work, you know,--you cannot imagine how realall the garden-people, as I called them, were to me. Why, myEglantine--I never told you about Eglantine, Hilda!"
"No, heartless thing! you never did," said Hildegarde; "and you may tellme this instant. A pretty friend you are, keeping things from me in thatway!"
"She was a fair maiden," said Rose. "She stood against the wall, just bymy window. She was very lovely and graceful, with long, slender arms.Some people called her a sweetbrier-bush. She was my most intimatefriend, and was always peeping in at the window and calling me to comeout. When I came and sat close beside her in my chair, she would bendover me, and tell me all about her love-affairs, which gave her a greatdeal of trouble."
"Poor thing!" said Hildegarde, sympathetically.
"She had two lovers," continued Rose, dreamily, talking half to herself."One was Sir Scraggo de Cedar, a tall knight in rusty armor, who stoodvery near her, and loved her to distraction. But she cared nothing forhim, and had given her heart to the South Wind,--the most fickle andtormenting lover you can imagine. Sometimes he was perfectly charming,and wooed her in the most enchanting manner, murmuring soft things inher ear, and kissing and caressing her, till I almost fell in love withhim myself. Then he would leave her alone,--oh! for days and days,--tillshe drooped, poor thing! and was perfectly miserable. And then perhapshe would come again in a fury, and shake and beat her in the mostfrightful manner, tearing her hair out, and sometimes flinging her rightinto the arms of poor Sir Scraggo, who quivered with emotion, but nevertook advantage of the situation. I used to be _very_ sorry for SirScraggo."
"What a shame!" cried Hildegarde, warmly. "Couldn't you make her carefor the poor dear?"
"Oh, no!" said Rose. "She was very self-willed, that gentle Eglantine,in spite of her soft, pretty ways. There was no moving her. She turnedher back as nearly as she could on Sir Scraggo, and bent farther andfarther toward the south, stretching her arms out as if imploring herheartless lover to stay with her. I fastened her back to the wall oncewith strips of list, for she was spoiling her figure by stooping somuch; but she looked so utterly miserable that I took them off again.Dear Eglantine! I wonder if she misses me."
"I think she was rather a minx, do you know?" said Hildegarde. "Iprefer Sir Scraggo myself."
"Well," replied Rose, "one respected Sir Scraggo very much indeed; buthe was _not_ beautiful, and all the De Cedars are pretty stiff andformal. Then you must remember he was older than Eglantine and I,--everand ever so much older."
"That does make a difference," said Hildegarde. "Who were some other ofyour garden people, you funniest Rose?"
"There was Old Moneybags!" replied Rose. "How I did detest that old man!He was a hideous old thorny cactus, all covered with warts and knobs andsharp spines. Dear mother was very proud of him, and she was alwayshoping he would blossom, but he never did. He lived in the house inwinter, but in spring Mother set him out in the flower-bed, just besidethe double buttercup. So when the buttercup blossomed, with its lovelyyellow balls, I played that Old Moneybags, who was an odious old miser,was counting his gold. Then, when the petals dropped, he piled his moneyin little heaps, and finally he buried it. He wasn't very interesting,Old Moneybags, but the buttercups were lovely. Then there were LarryLarkspur and Miss Poppy. I wonder--No! I don't believe you would."
"What I like about your remarks," said Hildegarde, "is that they are soclear. What do you mean by believing I wouldn't? I tell you I would!"
"Well," said Rose, laughing and blushing, "it really isn't anything;only--well, I made a little rhyme about Larry Larkspur and Miss Poppyone summer. I thought of it just now; and first I wondered if it wouldamuse you, and then I decided it wouldn't."
"_You_ decided, forsooth!" cried Hildegarde. "'"Who are you?" said thecaterpillar.' I will hear about Larry Larkspur, if you please, withoutmore delay."
"It really _isn't_ worth hearing!" said Rose. "Still, if you want it youshall have it; so listen!
"Larry Larkspur, Larry Larkspur, Wears a cap of purple gay; Trim and handy little dandy, Straight and smirk he stands alway.
"Larry Larkspur, Larry Larkspur, Saw the Poppy blooming fair; Loved her for her scarlet satin, Loved her for her fringed hair.
"Sent a message by the night-wind: 'Wilt thou wed me, lady gay? For the heart of Larry Larkspur Beats and burns for thee alway.'
"When the morning 'gan to brighten, Eager glanced he o'er the bed. Lo! the Poppy's leaves had fallen; Bare and brown her ugly head.
"Sore amazed stood Larry Larkspur, And his heart with grief was big. 'Woe is me! she was so lovely, Who could guess she wore a wig?'"
Hildegarde was highly delighted with the verses, and clamored for more;but at this moment some one was seen coming toward them through thetrees. The some one proved to be Martha, with her sleeves rolled up,beaming mildly through her spectacles. She carried a tray, on which weretwo glasses of creamy milk and a plate of freshly baked cookies. Suchcookies! crisp and thin, with what Martha called a "pale bake" on them,and just precisely the right quantity of ginger.
"Miss Rose doesn't look over and above strong," she explained, as thegirls exclaimed with delight, "and 't would be a pity for her to eatalone. The cookies is fresh, and maybe they're pretty good."
"Martha," said Hildegarde, as she nibbled a cooky, "you are a saint!Where do you keep your aureole, for I am sure you have one?"
"There's a pair of 'em, Miss Hilda," replied Martha. "They build everyyear in the big elm by the back door, and they do sing beautiful."